


All Eyes On You

by Kuroitora_chan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dave can't lick pussy, Jane is horny, Karkat is a hitman, comedy?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuroitora_chan/pseuds/Kuroitora_chan
Summary: Karkat is trusted to kill Dave Strider, a promissor movie director that needs Jane Crocker to fund his creation.Things take an interesting turn.
Kudos: 4





	All Eyes On You

It’s not like they could’ve given me a better reason to shoot this fucker up his shitty, empty, stupid think pan. Making shows and propaganda for that cunt heiress of the Crocker Empire, sucking her off more frequently than her excruciatingly dumb human husband - or at least I think. Some things I just don’t want to know.

I don’t respect his privacy or anything so stupid for a mercenary to do, don’t get me wrong. Seeing the man sleep and shower and work day in day in again - you thought I took days off? Deluded bastard - just helps put in perspective things you don’t want to see people do. I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy to have to perform canalingus on that wretched wench.

She’s in his house right now and I can barely believe he went to his good liquor cabinet just to offer something she might say yes to.

She says no. HA! Serves you well, you fucking lap barkbeast.

They sit on opposite chairs and start talking about something. I click my auricular receptor and activate the bug on Strider’s Thermal Hull.

“So? What did you think of the storyboards? I know they’re too fresh for the medium audience, but we hype’em up so high the empire state building is gonna look like a children lego build.”

“Your production will be grand, Strider, but for as ‘fresh’ as you classify it, there is one thing that could have been improved in it,” the wench says, rising up from where she sits and crossing the living room straight to him. Her skirt riding up her thighs when she steps on his short, trinket filled table.

Even without the aim I see the color drain from his soft, squishy human face. I look through the aim to get an up close view of his despair and the aim focuses on his lap. His hands are entwined and have gone white in the knuckles. His legs are crossed so tight he could crush a skull in his thighs. I feel something wind on my stomach.

Why is that the imagery that gets me horny? Stop getting a fucking crush on your target you stupid fucking dumb little shit. You already had your moment of weakness when he decided to touch himself all lasciviously in his living room. You could even hear him breathing weakly by using the fucking Hull Bug. You don’t get to be horny right now, right when fucking Croker is so close you can smell her perfume of deceit and genocide.

GOD, I could shoot her from right here. And it would be such a good use of this bullet as well. It’s not that I don’t know it would make things even worse. Creating a martyr is never a good idea, but fuck if I don’t want to put a hole through that putrid tirant.

She pushes Strider out of the chair by his tie and sits where he was with her legs spread apart. She pulls his tie like a leash to a lazy bark beast making him knee in front of her, right between her thighs, face level with her crotch.

If he wasn’t reacting to her commands I would think he’s dead. That’s how devoid of color he was.

I honestly don’t know how he can be reacting like that. It’s literally what he’s been preparing for ever since I started watching his daily pitiful existence. You ordered a fake pussy shaped toy to practice! One can’t get more prepared than that! Not to mention we have the internet. You didn’t have to buy anything to figure this out, you could just have gone to PailHub - or whatever the human equivalent is - and looked up for ‘cunilingus’.

Crocker puts her panties to the side and finishes her feedback “It’s missing spice.”

Strider’s eyebrows rise and he sweats. 

I should put him out of his misery, because I can’t really describe this as anything else. If the fact he doesn’t want to be doing that could get any more obvious, he would have to be screaming he doesn’t want to do it to the entire city. Is this rape, though? I mean… he knew. He was actively practicing for it - and that was so pathetic to watch.

He looks up “I could totally review the-”

“You will have time to review anything you want, Dave. After-” She puts her hand on the back of his head and urges him forward. Crocker keeps at it until Strider gets a breath away from her genitalia. He ducks, forehead to the ground, like he’s bowing. Hands in white fists right beside his shaking head.

Strider murmurs something unintelligible. Then he stands to his feet and says more determined “I can’t do it, Jane.”

“I’m your only option for being published.”

“Fuck it. I can’t do it.”

Ohhhh. This is interesting now. It’s starting to look like one of my novels. And who would’ve guessed Strider would grow a moral backbone out of nowhere. That’s a twist I didn’t see coming. And Crocker’s face of utter humiliation is delicious. So much better than the face of terror I would print on her face after blowing Strider’s brains on her lap.

This here. This. This is quality Drama. Celebrity Drama. This kind of info would sell horrors to gossip magazines and I’m absolutely privy to it. Sometimes - on very rare occasions - I love my job.

“We had an agreement, Strider.”

“Then go get fucked with that. I’m not doing it.”

“You will regret this,” she says before stretching her skirt and leaving his house.

On the roof I’m hiding I can barely contain my laughter. GET BLUE BALLS YOU PUTRID WENCH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I wipe a tear that runs down. Today was a good day. I didn’t have to kill the fuckable human, I saw the wench leave the premises humiliated and unsatiated and I saved a bullet in general. I’m going to have fun reporting this to HQ.

I start disassembling my rifle when I hear something on the bug. Shattering. I grab the aim of the gun to look at what’s going on.

Strider is on the counter with one hand of his head and another at his lap, limp. Underneath him, a glass cup - or what remains of it - lies.

“What the fuck do I do now?”

Wow. He sounds desolate. Strider is not the most naturally happy person I’ve ever heard, but he just sounds like someone else entirely. Why do I care? Just- pack and leave. The job is done, Karkat. Let it go.

“Even if I sold everything I own I’d have maybe a third of what I need to pay this entire production.”

Get a loan, fuckface.

“Pitching for a loan didn’t work,”

Than Crowdfund!

“I have nothing to show to Crowdfund,”

AHHHHH! It’s not my problem! It’s not a Karkat problem, so just walk away.

“Maybe I should crawl back to Jane and beg her to reconsider,”

I will murder you for playing with my emotions like a wriggler bop it toy, Strider. I shall disembowel you and hang you with your own fucking intestines.

“Who am I kidding? I can’t do that!”

Just fucking decide so I know if I have to kill you or if I can take my gun apart and leave, goddamnit!

He breathes hard “I can’t decide anything today. It’s late. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a better idea.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH! FUCKING PIECE OF INDECISIVE SHIT! YOU BIG UNDERWEAR SHITSTAIN! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I want to go home. I can’t take this anymore. I want to drink a cup of coffee and watch The Duff and Hitch and John Tucker Must Die and The Perfect Date and Miss Congeniality and Legally Blonde and Serendipity. Dumb masterpieces to just pass out on your coutch. I want to masturbate furiously to Will Smith’s pecs and pass out on my couch with a half eaten burger from some overpriced gourmet place and just have a moment of FUCKING HAPPINESS.

I didn’t think I’d have to go this far, Strider, but you’re infuriating.

It’s time for an  _ intervention _ .

When he’s on his bed, all tucked and drooly, I grapel to his living room window. Inside, I grab his laptop and search for the entire sequel of micro-videos that constitutes the whole movie that is ‘Who Killed Captain Alex’.

If you can’t get any lesson from these people, your movie simply is not worth being published, and you’re not worthy of being a director, Strider.

After my masterplan is in place, I grapel back to the roof and wait for the morning to come.

Strider wakes me up by opening the Hull - son of a horny lusus, you scared me! - to grab his daily pour of diabetes inducing beverage, also known as apple juice. Then he sits on his computer and opens right on the Youtube page I left there.

“I don’t remember watching this yesterday.”

I put it from the beginning, of course you won’t even think you saw it, asshole.

He finished watching the movie and stood silent.

That’s a first for him, but it actually makes me worry. What if he got the wrong message from it?

“That’s it.”

I know that Who Killed Captain Alex is not the best shot movie with the best plot of history and that the wholesomeness makes it worth watching and stuff, but ‘that’s it’ is the most fucking generic way of saying you had an idea.

“I don’t need Jane to fund me.”

Okay. That’s good enough for me.

“I just need the actors to perform for youtube. I can shoot stuff and post it as chapters of a bigger plot of something, like an acted comic. And have people fund me through other means! Then, when I have enough, I can launch the last episode as a movie!”

That… Is not what I meant but it is really clever. I’d actually watch something of the sort.

Well, my Strider sized problem is finished. Now I can go back to HQ, report this shit show, and go drink a steaming cup of coffee while I shamelessly stare at Will Smith’s pecs. 


End file.
